


The Natural Order of Things

by JonBonHovis



Series: The Peralta-Santiago Family Sandwich [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Baby Peraltiago, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonBonHovis/pseuds/JonBonHovis
Summary: They work earlier shifts so they can leave as soon as the clock hits five because they have a child now, with bedtimes and nap times and everything. As long as one of them is armed with snacks, Legos, markers and that colouring book Amy bought (because it’s supposed to help kids learn by osmium or something), they'll get far enough for the other to come and bail them out; but Terry was seriously right when he said they'd have no clue what they were doing.Four years, and it seems to Jake like they're acing this parenting thing.(Sequel to More Than a Bad Saag Paneer)





	

It’s an ‘airplane on Dad’s shoulders, monkey cuddles with Mom’ kind of morning, apparently. Sam likes to clamp his legs around Jake’s neck and hold his arms out as he runs around the apartment making airplane noises before he falls back into Amy’s arms and rides piggy back while she picks up all the things they knocked over and Jake makes breakfast.  

“Nearly done, dad?” Amy asks him once she's done, holding a pair of legs and grimacing at what looks to be a tight grip on her neck by a pair of tiny hands.

He tickles the sole of the feet, feeling happy when they squirm and a little bad when the hands seem to tighten their hold on her neck. “Yup. You wanna get plates?”

Amy uses that as an excuse to free herself and grab some cutlery. “You heard your father, cariño. Get some plates!”

Sam dismounts and grabs three plates one at a time from the open cupboard under the hob, reaching between Jake’s legs and passing them to Amy to put them on the table. Jake determines the omelette he was cooking is done, and brings it over to the table still in the frying pan, because the less washing up they have to do, the better. Amy makes sure there's a placemat between the pan and their plastic, childproof tablecloth when he puts it down, and they have breakfast.

This is their life now – hideously domestic and boring, if you’d have asked twelve-years-ago-Jake-Peralta, who was a hotshot detective and enjoyed baiting his new partner about her crazy neatness and her weird pantsuits. Of course, present-day-Jake-Peralta still is a hotshot detective and still enjoys baiting his partner – but she's just going to be his partner-in-life now, not in work, because Amy took her Sergeant exams two weeks ago, and is eyeing a transfer to the Seven-Six (it will kind of suck not being able to work opposite her anymore, but he's also super proud that she's making her way up that ladder and totally okay with being a kept man). And he thinks that these weekend breakfasts, when it’s just the three of them and no one’s rushing, are kind of perfect.

Sam’s inherited his uncanny ability to make a mess no matter the situation – right now his face is covered in egg, which is a feat in itself, considering omelettes are solid. But so is Jake’s face, and Amy can't do anything but shake her head and wipe her son’s mouth with her napkin and motion for Jake to do the same (which he never does, and instead rubs his mouth all over hers when he kisses her, which makes her shudder and laugh at the same time).

Weekends are sacred in the Peralta-Santiago household. And they might go to the park, or meet the Boyles’ for lunch, or entertain whichever member of Amy’s family is in the city if they have to; but mostly, they chill out together, playing with toys or watching movies or catching up on chores that get left behind in the busyness of the week.

Sam’s an awesome kid. Jake’s sure he's the best thing he's ever half-made. He's got those deep brown Santiago eyes, just like his mom, but those tight curls are Peralta all the way. They can't really tell about the nose, so they're just crossing their fingers. Four years, and it seems to Jake like they're acing this parenting thing.

 

Amy volunteers to do the dishes (haha, sucker!) while the boys go ‘play’. When she's finished and goes to join the in the sitting room, she's met in the doorway with a sight: Jake is sitting across the coffee table, aiming his detective face at his son, who's sitting on the couch with his head cocked to the side and his hands pushing up his cheeks. He looks like a chipmunk.

They stare at each other before Jake suddenly slams his hands down on the table and mock bellows, “WHERE IS IT?!”

Amy gets the fright of her life but Sam just bursts into roaring laughter, falling over onto his side and hiding his face from his dad.

“Playing hard to get, eh? I’m not worried: you’ll cave, eventually. You criminals always do.” Jake says darkly but calm, at odds from his outburst a second ago. Amy realises she’s walked into a full-scale interrogation between two children. Sam has settled down again, giggling at his father now as he gasps for air and waits eagerly for him to yell again.

Jake obliges. “WHERE IS THE REMOTE?!”

Her son just cackles.

That’s how the rest of the day goes – chasing Sam, making Sam laugh, playing with Sam, some noice Amy and Jake mouth-on-mouth action (nap time has become the equivalent of date night), then some snacking, chores (Amy has them well-trained, by now), and more playing until dinner time, when Jake disappears back into the kitchen and Amy does some work on the couch with a glass of wine, Sam playing his strict thirty minutes of educational games on her phone beside her.

“I made pork.” Jake sticks his head around the door frame to call him them in for dinner.

“You're such a good Jew,” Amy deadpans, and his disembodied head grins rakishly at her and winks in the way he knows she finds Stunningly Handsome and Boyishly Charming.

“I don’t like pork.” Sam says without looking up the phone, which throws them both for a loop, because he liked it last week when they had it for dinner, and yesterday morning for breakfast.

“Oh right…” Jake trails off, visibly racking his brain to combat this new information. “Well, lucky it’s actually chicken?”

“Oh, I like that kind of chicken.” Her son says absentmindedly, and Jake exhales slightly in relief behind his back. He makes a confused face at Amy and she shrugs back in agreement, making the same face – something they do a lot. Terry was seriously right when he said they'd have no clue what they were doing.

 

Putting Sam to bed consists of Jake telling him a completely extravagant imaginary story, usually running along some kind of detective/ cop theme, and Amy tucking him in and kissing him on the forehead. Then, the nightlight is on, the door is closed, and Jake and Amy have a little time to be Jake and Amy.

Which usually entails curling up on the couch and watching a movie, something they’ve done since their partner-in-work-only days, though they don’t eat half as much take-out anymore.

They're wrapped around each other, Amy with her eyes closed and her head in that spot between Jake’s head and shoulder and his fingers absentmindedly trailing up and down her arm when she hears him say, softly, “Hey little dude, I thought your mom told you to stay in bed.”

She opens her eyes a peak to see her son blearily standing in the doorway uncertainly, one foot in his footsie pyjamas tracing circles in the wooden floor.

“There's a scary monster in my closet.” He says, and Amy sighs, getting ready to get up and take him back and open said closet to show that, other than Jake’s spare Die Hard memorabilia and a couple of her old binders, there's nothing scary hiding in among his clothes; but Jake’s hand on her forearm goes firm, holding her in place.

“Scarier than Mom?” He asks.

Her son considers this for a moment before he turns around and goes back to his room. Amy waits until she's sure he's back in his room before she elbows Jake in the gut.

“Not cool,” She grins into his neck.

“It worked, though!” Jake says cheerfully, pulling his head back so he can look at her and giving himself a double chin in the process. “If he comes back, we’ll show him some of your binders – then he’ll truly know fear!”

This time, she gives him a dig in the ribs.

 

* * *

 

Sam usually splits his time between preschool and his Nana Karen during the day while Jake and Amy fight New York’s criminal underworld. If either of them have the day off (rare, nowadays, when they need all the money they can get for college funds and just funds in general – kids are expensive!), they’ll stay at home and he’ll crawl into bed with them around six in the morning for a commiserating cuddle. Then the rest of the day will be spent in pyjamas learning something new (Amy) or playing Legos (Jake). 

This morning, its Amy who has the day off, and is woken gently before six when Jake kisses her forehead goodbye (they work earlier shifts so they can leave in as soon as the clock hits five because they have a child now, with bedtimes and nap times and everything), and again ten minutes later when the bed dips slightly and a pair of tiny, cold feet press against her back. She rolls over and gathers her baby up in her arms and they doze quietly together, missing the other piece of bread that usually makes up the Peralta-Santiago family sandwich.

After about an hour, Amy still isn't ready to let go of sleep but Sam is wide awake the way only four year olds can be at seven o’clock in the morning; she knows she has to get up and make him breakfast but she just wants five more minutes, please.

Sam pokes her boob and she groans. Then he smushes her cheeks with his tiny palms.

“Mama, don’t worry, you can sleep. I’ll make breakfast,” and through the haze of sleep Amy thinks that would be lovely, until he finishes with, “How do you turn on the oven?”

The vision of the apartment block going down in flames has her wide awake instantly.

 

To Jay-kakes <3 <3 –

_He offered to make breakfast and asked me how to turn on the oven, absolutely terrifying_

 

From Jay-kakes <3 <3 –

_Now u no how I feel wen u say ur goin 2 cook dinner_

 

To Jay-kakes <3 <3 –

_Don’t be so mean_

 

From Jay-kakes <3 <3 –

_Xoxo <3 <3 <3 :) :) :) <3 <3 <3_

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later, Amy has to take the day off to visit her mom who's in hospital out in Jersey after she busted her hip ‘salsa dancing’ (read: getting it on with Señor Santiago).

Jake feels conflicted about it because old people sex is gross but Amy’s parents are super cute and still in love and he's not going to hate on anybody who's getting some, even if that someone hates him. Also, he kind of totally wants him and Amy to be like that when they're older because sex with Amy is amazing and he kind of wants to do her forever (when it’s appropriate, not like at work, duh).

But anyway, Amy’s gone, his mom is gone visiting his aunt in Philly, he has Sam and he's been called into the precinct.

There's really only one thing to do – he packs a bag full of snacks, Legos, markers and that colouring book Amy bought because it’s supposed to help kids learn by osmium or something; he chases his son around the apartment until he’s got him fully dressed, grabs his Nets cap and drives them down to the Nine-Nine.

With all the beat cops cooing at Sam, it takes them ten minutes to make it from the front door to the elevator. Granted, it usually takes Jake fifteen when he's going solo, but that’s because he milks the attention, keeping up with his old buddies. Sam’s not too impressed by people who all look the same asking him the same questions.

When they get in the elevator Jake lifts Sam up so he can push the button for the second floor and he's pretty sure they get an ‘aw’. He's guessing he’ll be at least twenty minutes’ late tomorrow morning, dealing with the aftermath.

The doors open to the bullpen, and as usual, the Captain is by the gate, wrist in the air, waiting.

“You're late, Peralta.” Holt looks steadily from his watch down to Sam and blinks slowly in that way Jake _thinks_ means he's surprised. “I see you have brought Samuel with you today.”

“If I wasn’t actually supposed to come in today, does it still count? And for the last time, Captain, his name isn't ‘Sam as in Samuel’, it’s ‘Sam as in Sandwich’ and you would do well to remember it. Everybody knows Sam is short for sandwich.”

Jake berates him.

“I'm not sure you're correct…”

“Well if it ain’t Young Sandwich Peralta.” Gina breezes over and bends down to look at Sam, despite her firm insistence she will not interact with him until he can talk about something other than sharks. “Is your head still too big for your body?”

Sam peers from behind Jake’s legs like he's looking through tall trees in a forest, keeping a firm grip on the jean material. Jake ruffles his hair. “His head’s normal sized for his age, Gina.”

“Are you aware that the word ‘sandwich’ does not contain an ‘M’? Thus rendering the concept of naming you son ‘Sam as in Sandwich’ incorrect?”

says Captain Holt, in his customary measured tone.

“What? Yes, we’re aware there’s no ‘M’, but that’s his name. Geez, I'm taking bullets from all sides here.” Jake holds up his hands. “A lot of hostility in the air today, guys. A lot of hostility.”

He ushers Sam through the gate and over to his desk, placing his hands on his hips as he surveys it and Amy’s, still pressed up against each other like they have been since he started at the Nine-Nine.

“Here we are, Sam. This is where mommy and daddy fell in love while catching criminals and being awesome cops. In a way, you owe your existence to these two desks.”

Sam’s not looking at the tables; instead, he pulls on one of the legs of Jake’s jeans. “Daddy, can I have a bar?”

“I feel like you're not really appreciating the importance of this moment, but sure, bud. One granola bar coming up. You can sit at mom’s desk today, okay? Daddy has to do some work because his boss is mean and doesn’t let him spend time with his son.” He lifts Sam over and up into the chair and fishes in his bag to pull out a granola bar and the colouring book and markers, all while looking pointedly at Captain Holt, who lifts a solitary eyebrow. “Here’s your bar. What are you going to colour? Oh look, sharks!”

Gina throws her hands up in exasperation.

 

Time passes slowly as Jake finishes his paperwork, peering over the monitor every five seconds to make sure Sam is still at Amy’s desk (he's a speedy, curious kid, and there's guns everywhere in the precinct… Jake may have made a terrible decision, bringing him here).

Sarge emerges from the break room and looks at Jake, then his gaze swings to Sam; then he's back on Jake again, and Jake knows he needs to intervene.

“Now, Sarge...” he jumps up from his chair but advances cautiously, like he's approaching a skittish animal.

Jake!” Terry exclaims, eyes wide, his teeth gritted. “What are you doing, bringing a four-year-old into a police precinct?”

“It’s just for a few hours!” He protests, then explains, “Amy’s in Jersey and my mom’s away, so there's no one that can mind him. It’s fine, I'm watching him.”

“Oh yeah? Then where is he now?”

Jake looks over and nearly has a heart attack at the lack of a child at his partner’s desk before Sam pops back up from where he’d seemingly been checking out the underside of the table.

“See?” Jake says, relieved. “No problem.”

Terry looks understandably sceptical. “I'm guessing that Amy doesn’t know about this, so make sure you tell her that I was not okay with this.”

“It’s just ‘til I finish my paperwork. Captain Holt is fine with it,” Jake insists.

Terry just shakes his head and retreats to his desk. “Sure, Peralta. Just keep him away from any weapons.”

“You're the best, Sarge!” Jake calls after him.

 

When Charles comes in with a perp for the holding cell, his face lights up at seeing his best friend and drops just as quickly when he sees his son.

“Jakey? Today isn't… You brought Sam? Did I miss ‘Bring Your Son to Work’ Day?” Boyle looks visibly distressed. “Oh god, I have to go pull Nikolaj out of school.”

“What? No, you don’t. Captain called me in on my day off and I didn’t have anyone who could take Sam,” Jake explains, before having a lightbulb moment. “Hey, do you think you could watch him? Just while I get my paperwork done? I thought I could do it and watch him at the same time but I forgot how dangerous this place is, with all the guns,” he gestures around vaguely because it’s true – there are guns everywhere in the bullpen. People have left their firearms lying around on the copiers, next to the coffee pot in the break room… Scully’s using his to scratch his back.

“What?” He says, when he notices Jake and Charles’ eyes on him. “My back-fat itches.”

They shudder.

“Oh, gee, Jakey, you know I would do anything that is both physically and non-physically possible for you if I could,” Boyle begins, and Jake “Aw,”s, touched. “But no can do, buddy. I just got a call about a homicide five blocks over. Wanna come?”

Jake perks up, more interested in gruesome murders than doing paperwork, but crashes back to earth when Boyle continues, “No, what am I saying, you're watching Sam!”

Jake feels the ebb of an opportunity lost until his son waves his colouring book in the air, trying to show him his picture but failing to hold the book open. “Look, daddy! I coloured a shark!” Then he finds he doesn’t mind staying to do his paperwork so much.

“What’s new?” Gina heckles from her desk.

“That’s so great, buddy!” He encourages. “Great colouring in the lines, your mom will be so proud of you!”

 

It’s a little after four when Amy texts him.

 

From Dream Queen Santiago <3 <3 –

_Traded shifts with Matt. Almost home, just have to swing by the precinct first._

 

To Dream Queen Santiago <3 <3 –

_!!!! :) :) :*_

 

He curses Matteo (his least favourite of her brothers – the kid’s a total hipster) for being so helpful. It’s almost as if he doesn’t know that Jake brought Sam into the precinct today.

He was always going to tell Amy that he’d had to bring Sam in, of course. But he was going to do it tonight, preferably when she's already had a glass of wine or two and is super relaxed, when it had already happened and she couldn’t do anything about it. Now, she's going to come in in the middle of it, with guns lying around everywhere and Sam sitting at her desk, in constant danger.

“Hey, buddy, want to look out the window and give me a shout when you see mom?” Jake asks, and his son nods, because they have played this game before and he knows the deal. Jake gives him a hand down from Amy’s chair, and he moves over to the window, pressing his nose against it.

Rosa passes him on her way back from the file room, carrying a handful of case files, takes one look at Sam, and asks, “Does Amy know?”

Jake considers lying before giving up and answering, “No.”

“Cool,” she nods, and continues walking back to her desk, face as blank as ever. It reassures Jake that she doesn’t mind that Sam’s here. Or care. He's not entirely positive but he's reassured nonetheless.

He's ten minutes away from being done when Sam runs over to him and grabs his arm, telling him in an exaggerated whisper that Amy’s just entered the building.

“Whaaat?!” Jake makes a funny face, which Sam copies. “Quick get under, get under!”

Sam squeals and hides under Jake’s desk, stuffing his hands in his mouth in an effort to be quiet which he thinks is adorable. He manages to get another sentence or two of his report in before the left doors open to reveal the one and only Amy Santiago.

“Jake! What are you doing here?" She says, confused as she strides over to her computer, pulling out a hard drive and tucking it in her bag before noticing the state of her work space. "And why are there granola bar crumbs all over my desk?”

“Surprise…!” Jake says weakly, and Sam bursts out from under his desk, laughing and bumbling his way over to his mother, who heaves him up into her arms.

“Hey, cariño! What are you doing here?” She greets him excitedly before flashing Jake a look that says, _we will talk about this later_ , and he's super pumped for that conversation. “Were you good for your dad today?”

“He was great; wasn’t he, Gina?”

“So good? He only played with, like, two guns–”

“Okay no, there were no guns; no guns were played with,” he says in a rush, glaring at Gina, who just shakes her head at him.

The Captain emerges from his office at this, and Jake holds his breath. What Holt says in the next couple minutes will determine whether Jake will get off with a warning or if Amy will be _disappointed_ in him (which sucks. It’s a lot of sighing and withheld kisses).

“Santiago. Your son is… very well behaved.” Holt compliments, and forget his own pride, Jake’s pretty sure Amy’s eyes are glistening.

“Thank you, sir,” she manages, and clutches Sam a little tighter.

Jake manages to finally finish his report while Amy packs up Sam’s stuff and does a quick spring clean of her desk (crumbs of at least four granola bars apparently get everywhere, especially when the eater is a four-year-old child who thinks mess and chaos is the natural order of things). He gives it a quick read-through – or at least he pretends to – before emailing it to the Captain in an email with the subject titled, _!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SEE THE LAST EP OF THE BACHELOR? STEVE IS SUCH A DOG._

“You coming, Jake?” Amy calls from where she's waiting at the elevator, still holding Sam, and Jake’s mind flashes back to four years ago, when she stood in that exact spot, only their son was a grape-sized bundle of cells in her belly. A lot has changed, but in the end, he's still an awesome detective, he's still got the girl of his dreams, they have a kid, and he doesn’t he think he could do much better.

He smiles. “Be right there, babe.”

He taps the desk, logs off the computer, grabs his coat and bag, and hustles over to join his family.

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another future fic...  
> Not as good as numero uno of this series but we shall persevere.  
> Credit where credit is due, I took some of the Jake and Amy/ Sam interactions (the remote, pork and 'scarier than mom' parts) from those funny parenting tweets Buzzfeed are always writing about.  
> Comments are so, so appreciated and loved.


End file.
